


Habits

by Acciofirewhiskey



Category: Maleficent (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drabble Collection, F/F, Legal AU, Maleila, lawyer AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 03:50:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3753418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acciofirewhiskey/pseuds/Acciofirewhiskey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Attorney Maleficent takes on Leila Kingsley's high-profile divorce case for more than professional reasons. Between tabloids, recreational drug use, unplanned pregnancy and feelings, the case gets more complicated than the legal proceedings. </p><p>Maleila Legal AU. 100 Drabble Fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Habits

**Author's Note:**

> Ten 100-word drabbles per chapter.

 Mal doesn’t look up when Diaval cracks the office door, one foot in, one out, merely peaking a head inside after rapping twice—he was a shite secretary, but his presence irked Benedict, and thus the incompetent’s position was secure.

 

For now.

 

“Your one o’clock is here.”

 

“Fine, fine. Send her in.”

 

“Well, there’s also—“

 

“What is it now, Di?”

 

“That is, I think she’s—I think she’s not… so-ber,” he stutters.

 

Mal looks up, eyes sharp, “You follow the tabloids, do you not.”

 

“Well yeah.”

 

She leans forward in a mock whisper, “Then that shouldn’t be a surprise.”

 

-

 

She held no love for Diaval, not long on the wagon himself, but the others ran their mouths more than if her secretary were a woman. Then there was how his arse looked in dress slacks—after she’d taken him to purchase a suit. The fool, floundering in that no-man’s-land of almost-thirty, and he didn’t own a suit.

 

 

She felt the familiar urge to yell at him; it’d certainly be an improvement upon the brief she was pouring over, red pen in hand, from the intern (a breasty thing, only kept about for two very large, very obvious reasons).

 

-

 

Mal’s neither the nerve, nor the time today for such tirades aimed at inept secretaries (breasty or otherwise); she’s bigger fish to fry, as it stands.

 

“Mrs. Kingsley, welcome.” She strides across the room to offer her hand, “I’ve been expecting you.”

 

The woman’s eyes dart to Mal’s but never quite rest in one place over-long, but she accepts the handshake. Her bones are prominent, fingers too dry, with dust along the tips.

 

A jolt runs through the lawyer as their nails graze in passing, hands falling back to their sides.

 

Mal shakes off the feeling. “Please have a seat.”

 

-

 

“Expecting?”

 

“Yes, I was so sorry to hear the news, but these things happen.” Slipping on her glasses, business seeps into her voice, “Let’s you and I make sure there are not _two_ tragedies here.”

 

The young woman—very young—snorts, after which she snuffs and wipes at her nose in quick succession.

 

Yes, she’s partaken, _recently_.

 

“That’s not why you were expecting me.”

 

“This practice built its reputation on cases like yours, high profile and higher settlements. Of course I’d expect late Henry Kingsley’s daughter.” Male deflects, hoping to avoid the honest answers.

 

She smirks, “I’m not stupid, Moor.”

 

-

 

Leila Kingsley smoothes down her suit—still the debutante, Mal notes. It’s Dolce and Gabbana, (magnificent and recent). She wears her wedding ring, as well, on her right hand (also magnificent).

 

She’s gorgeous and rich and at the rate she’s going, dead in ten years’ time.

 

“I don’t think you are,” Mal lies (but only a white one).

 

“Then let’s shoot straight: you have as much reason as I do to hate Stefan.” She leans forward, tan, taught breasts swelling nicely, “That’s why I’m here. That’s why you expected me. So let’s fuck the bastard over.”

 

 “... We’ll fucking ruin him.”

 

–

 

Two hours later, she escorts her client to the door. They’ve established a plan of action, a list of demands, and a general overview of what they expect from Stefan. In addition, Mal’s given her a list of documents she requires moving forward.

 

They shake hands again, and this time Leila holds her eyes. The heiress is nervous, biting on each of her fake nails, lingering on the pinky.

 

Mal shivers, the instant desire to grab it, slip her tongue underneath the little finger, seeing if any powder lingers.

 

Strange, she’s not indulged in those two such activities for sometime.

 

–

 

For two weeks, Mal watches tabloids, but Leila lays low.

 

Strangely, the lawyer feels disappointed. She shakes her head and returns to the water rights dispute to which she’s been relegated (Nasty, jealous, Benedict. How he ever became partner, she’d never know).

 

 The feeling bubbles up again when the woman misses their meeting. Diaval leaves two messages, but on her lunch break, she finds herself dialing the socialite. Voicemail, of course. She hangs up, and frustrated, slips a hand between her legs.

 

“Mal, I have that paper you—Oh shit!“

 

“Fuck, Diaval!”

 

The secretary chuckles, winking, “Sorry to interrupt, boss.”

 

–

 

“Obviously, I missed our meeting. Figured I’d drop the papers here.”

 

The lawyer huffs, but steps back, “Fine. Come in.” She shuts and locks it without turning around, as Leila’s hands slid to her hips.

 

“I thought you said you weren’t stupid,” Mal says, unmoving.

 

“I’m not,” the blonde whispers, mouthing her neck. “You feel it too.”

 

She holds in a moan, Leila’s lips finding her pulse point, nipping. Her hand slips under her skirt. Leila’s ring catches, but she manages. “Just a little fun.”

 

Mal’s head falls back, Leila fingering her clit “Can’t say the bastard didn’t have taste.”

 

–

 

“God you smell good,” She gasps, “What are you wearing.”

 

Mal frowns, “Antiperspirant.”  

 

“It’s great.” She thumbs Mal’s breasts, running her mouth in the valley between them—running her mouth in general.

 

“Yes, there, right there.”

 

Mal rolls her eyes. Of course she knew what she was doing, this wasn’t her first rodeo after all.

 

She walks them over to the couch, slipping her finger up inside Leila while groping her arse, outright pulling her across the large living room. They flop unceremoniously onto her leather sectional.

 

She spreads her legs, nudging Leila down between them, “Less talk, more tongue.”

 

–

 

“Why did you keep your name?” She doesn’t ask why she didn’t take Stefan’s. His name hasn’t come up. Mal, oddly, enjoys that.

 

She shrugs, looking up from where she lays in the older woman’s lap. “Hell, if I know.”

 

“Yes, you do.”

 

She takes the cigarette from the lawyer, breathing in a long drag, shrugging, “Kingsley’s an old name. Name’s have power.” She passes back the cigarette, “Glad I did now.”

 

“Surprised he didn’t take your name,” words slipping out before she can stop them.

 

Leila laughs, “That sounds about right.”

 

Silence follows; they smoke down to the filter. 


End file.
